


starting anew

by starkreactor



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Holding Hands, M/M, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Canon, This is the fluffiest thing I have ever written, feeding ducks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-22 04:50:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19660177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkreactor/pseuds/starkreactor
Summary: "A snake doesn't want to be in a garden all by his lonesome, angel."





	starting anew

**Author's Note:**

> so like ahaha i read this goofy good omens book years back n then the tv show came out so i watched that in a day and fell into a pit full of nothing but love for aziraphale and crowley's love for each other and i just had to write it out ;;

The Day After The First Day of The Rest of Their Lives feels quite humanly normal despite childish stains on reality's knitted edges created by universal alterations from an 11-year-old boy. Crowley can't quite find the words to describe the emotions settling his gut from realizing he's still alive—he is a former angel, yes, and he appreciates his fair share of the literary arts over the millennia, but during the creation of the universe, it wasn't as if he was lauded for his own poetry. He mostly Tempted artistic humans into writing their deepest desires in whichever flowery and extravagant fashion they wished. Despite this, Crowley lived for many years and carried an extensive wordy vocabulary even if he leans modernly casual with his own speech. Numerous words labor in his brain for attention but he can't find the ones to describe the feeling in his chest left from thwarting not only Armageddon, which he could have survived if he truly wanted to, but his own permanent death. Words or no words, Crowley can admit the emotions aren't only from the aftermath brought by seeing Satan or learning Heaven was as cruel as possible willing to burn one of their own kind with hellfire for simply not abiding by the Great Plan.

After surviving Heaven and Hell after swapping corporeal forms, Crowley and Aziraphale had gone out for lunch, which would have been nothing special if it weren't for the circumstances behind it—Crowley wanting to run away, Aziraphale rejecting him, Crowley thinking Aziraphale had been murdered, Aziraphale standing up to the Great Plan with him and choosing Crowley in turn whether he realized it or not at the time. Crowley could say with full confidence now that given Aziraphale stayed the night (and if Crowley hadn't nearly passed out the moment he saw his couch, perhaps more discussion outside of _how about we literally switch faces for tomorrow when Heaven and Hell come to reprimand us. sound like a plan? perfect, goodnight_ would have been had but that night—complicated despite the short conversation—is a story for another day), the angel certainly knew he had chosen a side. Crowley's side.

During that lunch, Crowley had found himself staring into Aziraphale's radiant blue eyes that brimmed at the rims with hope, rewritten destiny, freedom, and a fear for something Crowley could only infer. It echoed the fear in his chest, the dark tendrils that snaked around his heart and squeezed at the thought that this Agreement was over now that humanity and Earth had been saved. Yes, they had no sides, it was only them against their former higher powers, but what if Aziraphale still didn't want him? What if even after the past week (thought the Week Before Armageddon could hardly be assessed as a typical week in a passing year) Aziraphale couldn't bother to side with Crowley?

Now Crowley lies in his bed on The Day After The First Day of The Rest of Their Lives and blankly stares up at a dark ceiling until his corporeal eyes start to burn and the emotions coursing through his veins threaten to suffocate him at the throat. His mind brings up a memory from last night when he dropped Aziraphale off at his bookshop. Nothing new to the scenario itself but he did linger for a second longer. A smidgen enough to make a difference in Crowley's lizard brain. A full second more filled with eye contact that prickled his skin and sent his breathing off kilter with an unfair ease. It's always been unfairly easy for Aziraphale to bombard Crowley with these un-demonic emotions but that night was far too easy.

Crowley rubs at his eyes before taking the time out to question whether or not today is to be a day spent in his easy living snake form. At least as a snake he doesn't have to worry about human vices, only ophidian-demon ones. Crowley knows from experience that ophidian vices are much less philosophical than human ones, though the demon suffix to his particular snake species means metaphysical, incorporeal, and transcendental vices _do_ apply. As an ordinary looking snake though, no one really holds him to it. (They do hold him to said vices when they see his yellow-orange snake slit eyes on his human corporeal form, hence the sunglasses.)

After shuffling on slippers and miraculously obtaining a mug filled with black coffee, Crowley steps into his greenhouse where his plants immediately start to shiver at the sight of him. A small smirk worms onto his thin lips and he stares at a plant as he drinks. The bitter drink is warm on his tongue, a warmth that dips into uncomfortable despite the steam curling from the mug. Human drinks rarely get hot enough to actually warm Crowley so drinking them is mostly a human indulgence. The one drink that gets close to sizzling fire is alcohol thanks to the acidity the fermented liquid provided. He can feel the burn like flames in his blood and it roots him closer to Hell without physically being there. A huge benefit for someone who feels closer to humanity than Hell more days than not.

Crowley exchanges the coffee for his spritzer bottle, squeezing one eye shut as he points the nozzle at the closest plant. He stalks toward it with a low hum and starts inspecting leaves and spraying them with water. He's thinking of the next reprimand to make after spotting a browning curling leaf when his phone rings rather violently from the other end of the flat. Crowley hisses under his breath and wags his finger at the plant before making his way to the offending noise. Not many people have his number so he's disinclined to dismiss the call as it could be Aziraphale though for what reason the angel would call at this time alluded Crowley. There's also the prospect that some demon from Down Below could be calling, but from what he knew, Aziraphale had shocked Lord Beelzebub enough that Crowley, now classified as a demon gone native, was no longer appealing for demonic missions to thwart humanity.

"Angel," the demon starts, twirling the phone cable around his finger as he leaned lazily against his desk. His long legs cross at the ankles which are bare from his pants riding up as he leans back. "I assume you have good reason to call me at this hour?"

"Crowley!"

Affection slams into Crowley's chest at the excitement in Aziraphale's voice. He tries to sound nonchalant as he answers, but his foolish heart beats faster with every second. "That's my name, don't wear it out."

"I doubt I ever could, my dear," and Crowley feels the smile before he can stop it from forming. He knows Aziraphale's tags are remainders from his time in a century where such naming practices didn't denote anything more than a casual term of endearment (which frankly suits Aziraphale given his love for all things created under God's image so perhaps that's why he's uncomfortable using modern speech patterns that dilute the power of affection while simultaneously privatizing it), but Crowley finds comfort in Aziraphale addressing Crowley as his.

Aziraphale's calming voice drags Crowley back from his idle musings. "I am indeed calling for a good reason but I do hope you consider it a good reason as well. It's not that early in the day from what I can tell. I hope I didn't wake you up! I can call back if this is too early, Crowley."

"You're fine, don't fret about it; just give me the reason why we're chatting."

"Ah," shuffled books fill a gentle silence on the other end of the line before Aziraphale speaks again. "I'm inclined to offer you a day out."

Crowley's finger stop fidgeting with the phone cord and he sits up straighter. "A day out?"

"Yes, but if you're busy and have plans then don't mind me, I was just," Aziraphale cuts himself off with a hampered noise as if trying to figure out how to say something in his mind without explicitly stating it. Crowley understands the feeling far too well.

"I don't have any plans in mind; I can spend the day with you."

Aziraphale makes a little happy noise that lights all of Crowley's nerve endings on fire. He squeezes the phone cable tighter. "Oh, jolly, that's absolutely wonderful! There's a new restaurant a little ways down from the bookshop that Adam must have created when he reversed the damage done—I do wonder how he knew an additional sushi bar would be appropriate but I find no reason to truly complain." The angel hums into the receiver and then perks again. "I've been oh so eager to drop by. Would that be desirable for you?"

"The upmost."

"I believe they have that bubble tea creation there. That was one of yours, correct?"

Crowley snorts. "I think it's up in the air who started that fad."

He's not going to admit he was inspired to spread the fad to the Western Hemisphere after visiting Japan with Aziraphale and watching the angel suck tapioca pearls through a straw, his cheeks pink and eyes aglow as he drank the milk tea and chewed at the silky beads. Humans had created it but Crowley was definitely the one who tweaked a few things to ensure availability outside Eastern Asia.

Crowley is also to blame for Starbucks on every corner in metropolitan cities across the Earth—a minor annoyance to irritate humans at how inexpensive coffee in the area defaulted to Starbucks' corporately processed brews, but he soon felt that same annoyance whenever he went out for coffee and found himself bombarded by the green mermaid logo at every turn. To make up for it, he added special sweet sugar filled drinks to the menu, mostly because Aziraphale has a sweet tooth and having tens of thousands of Starbucks in the world was worth it if he could go into one with his angel and come out watching the sappy fool gush about how deliciously sugary the unicorn frappe turned out to be.

("I wish unicorns survived the Flood," Aziraphale had sighed as he licked the taste of sugar from his pink lips. Crowley had so badly wanted to taste the milky mango and sugar filled frappuccino on those pouting lips but he restrained himself from his own Temptation. "Perhaps then humans wouldn't be so obsessed with claiming unicorns excrete and vomit sparkly rainbows.")

Aziraphale ends the call with a request for Crowley to meet him at the bookshop in the next hour so they can go for lunch. Crowley takes that hour to shower, dress from his all black wardrobe, and reprimand his plants before taking the Bentley and driving through slight traffic to Aziraphale's bookshop. He walks inside the store with a low whistle, a Queen song drumming through his headroom the drive over. A bell signals his entrance and Crowley manages to slither his grin into a smirk as Aziraphale looks up from his readings with startled raised eyebrows and a small ‘o' to his lips. Crowley bows his head hello and takes careful swayed steps toward his friend as said friend scrambles to close strewn about books and make order in the chaos on his desk.

"Crowley," he essentially purrs in a somewhat surprised manner, making the called demon raise a questioning eyebrow over his glasses. "I'm pleased as punch that you're here."

Crowley leans against the desk with his hip and adjusts the sunglasses resting on his nose bridge. "I wouldn't blow you off, angel, so I don't understand the surprise, but I'm glad to make you happy then."

Aziraphale replies in a breathy laugh and stacks similarly bound books together as he dodges eye contact with Crowley. "Seeing you always pleases me, dear; is that not obvious?"

If Crowley were a lesser demon he would, well, he wouldn't know what he would have done given he probably wouldn't be friends with an angel in the first place, but what he does do in response to Aziraphale's charming words is enough to warrant the question. Crowley coughs hard into his fist to make an excuse for the blush rapidly heating his cheeks, but the sharp cough sends him into a coughing fit that Aziraphale finds necessary to sort out by gently rubbing Crowley's back until he's no longer wheezing. Such a soft caring touch sends Crowley's mind into overdrive and he bolts from Aziraphale and stumbles over his feet in the process. His face is bright red, he knows it without having to look in a mirror and see the embarrassment painting his face, and he wonders if he should have stayed a snake and lazed about his flat.

"Would you care for a glass of water, Crowley? That sounded like an awfully painful cough."

Crowley croaks. "That would be nice, yes, thank you."

When Aziraphale disappears around a corner to fill a cup, Crowley pulls up his glasses and rubs the heel of his palms into his eyes. He holds back a deep humiliating groan that threatens to claw its way out his chest and leans against the nearest wall as he attempts to calm his heart.

It isn't as if Aziraphale has never touched him before—drunken nights make the angel a little clingier than usual as the centuries pass—but after the end of the world that didn't happen, after thinking he lost Aziraphale forever, after Aziraphale decided he chose _Crowley_ over Heaven, the depth of meaning in the decision to be at each other's side in this new fashion has only started to register in Crowley's brain. The actual effectuation is much more daunting for the demon than in the various scenarios he had previously let his imagination conjure up. He had always waited and yearned for the day Aziraphale would let himself be with Crowley, whatever being with Crowley implied, but now that the pair "Aziraphale and Crowley" exists outside the supernatural confines their celestial natures implicitly harrowed down on them, anything is fair game. Anything from lingering gazes to brushing fingers, to a warm hand on his back rubbing gently as blue eyes glittered with concern. Anything from a social call to visit a new restaurant, to being able to say the other's company is the purest form of content.

Crowley recalls all his interactions with Aziraphale with an eidetic memory that should probably be used for better things, but he can't find anything more important to remember than Aziraphale these days. That being said, he recalls every rejection Aziraphale has ever told, from the angry ones to the solemn regretful ones that sting his heart decades and centuries later. He'll never forget that dark night in 60's Soho when Aziraphale told Crowley he moves too fast for him. Crowley was shattered back then, suddenly wondering if he was always to be too-fasted paced for Aziraphale, if his affection was always going to be too much for Aziraphale to accept. Now half a century later, it seems their paces have settled to be right beside one another—no, not quite side by side, Crowley's longer stride will always set him a little father ahead, but their fingers will still stay twined as they meander through time.

Aziraphale returns from the kitchen with a filled mug in hand and passes it along to Crowley, who nearly drops it on his foot when their fingers brush. Crowley quickly shoves the rim to his mouth and gulps down the refreshing water while avoiding eye contact because he knows Aziraphale is looking at him with concern and he can't take that affection head on right now. He places the emptied cup on the desk and licks at the residual water on his lips before stretching against the wall. "Are you ready to take your lunch break, angel?"

"Hmm?" sputters Aziraphale as if previously distracted. Crowley takes a moment to spare Aziraphale a glance and smiles to himself as the angel starts rearranging book stacks again with pink flush on his high cheekbones. "Ah, yes, I'm ready to go whenever you are, Crowley. Shall we take our leave?"

"Sure," Crowley shrugs casually and slips on his sunglasses before motioning for Aziraphale to take his lead out the shop. The angel fumbles with his keys and hastily darts from the desk with a strained murmur about a first edition Jane Austen novel that he hadn't owned before the End of Days That Wasn't. Crowley stays by the desk for a moment longer to watch his angel, letting his eyes trace the familiar curves to Aziraphale's figure, the soft white-blonde curls on his head, the questioning look on his face when he turns to face Crowley and cocks his head to the side with curiosity.

The Great Plan may or may not have been part of The Ineffable Plan and no living soul will ever know for sure, but Crowley wonders if this, if this deep illicit love for an angel and that love returned just as deeply to a demon, is ineffability itself because it certain feels like it.

The walk to the restaurant is spent in a mild silence. Aziraphale takes a few minutes to chat about something Crowley doesn't really concentrate on. Over the millennia, Crowley finds himself distracted by the sound of Aziraphale's voice, the ups and downs of his tone, the slight squeaks when he gets overly excited and the deep sighs when he's distressed about the issue at hand. The demon is suddenly struck with the thought that for a few miserable hours just a couple days ago he thought he would never be able to hear Aziraphale's titillating voice ever again. He thinks back to how Aziraphale threatened him during Satan's arrival, how the angel yelled that he wouldn't talk to Crowley again if Crowley didn't miraculously do something to make sure the Earth wasn't demolished by Satan himself. It was more than a threat, it was a reminder that Crowley wasn't able to talk to Aziraphale only hours earlier that day, a reminder that if he ran away to Alpha Centauri Aziraphale wouldn't follow, a reminder that a moment like this current one—strolling down London's urban streets listening to Aziraphale's gentle loving voice spin the stories of his life, of _their_ life—could possibly never happen again.

Crowley stuffs his hands in his jean pockets and furrows his brow as an unwarranted ache fills his chest. The ache accompanies the growing understanding that Crowley wants forever with Aziraphale, not just a few more centuries, not just however long until the humans destroy their own habitat before Heaven and Hell get together for the Big One (though the fact Heaven and Hell worked together in their attempt to destroy Crowley and Aziraphale only means the Big One could come sooner than wished, which, when it happens, is sooner than wished no matter the century). Crowley wants to always visit that old musty bookshop and steal Aziraphale from weathered books for a bite to eat. He wants to sit across from his angel and try all the new foods humans invent as if they created them just for Aziraphale to indulge in with his indulging ways. Crowley wants to be Aziraphale's never ending hedonistic pleasure.

Aziraphale interrupts Crowley's thoughts with an ecstatic cheer. "We're here! Oh, it looks so quaint and lovely."

"Mom-and-pop shop as the Americans would say," huffs Crowley as he follows Aziraphale inside.

It's a quaint and lovely shop indeed, small couple tables lining the walls and a sushi bar up front with black and silver stools under the countertop. Aziraphale makes his way to the bar and starts up a quick conversation with the sushi chef on the other side of the counter. Crowley follows him over, silent as a snake as he sits down beside the angel and merely watches the two before him discuss seafood delicacies, sashimi, and crab filled sushi rolls. He lets Aziraphale order the sushi for him, but takes it upon himself to order the drinks. As Aziraphale mentioned earlier, the shop does serve boba tea, so he orders taro milk tea for the angel and plain black tea for himself.

When the two receive their order, Crowley takes a moment to watch Aziraphale settle himself, tucking his napkin into his collar before taking the thick wooden chopsticks offered to him with long and pudgy fingers. The angel dips his tuna sashimi in a small amount of soy sauce and delicately settles the rice and fish mixture on his tongue with a content sigh. His blue eyes flutter closed with pleasure, jaw chewing carefully as he savors the tastes coating his mouth. His pink tongue darts out to lick a stray rice grain from his lips and Crowley gulps in a panic before turning to his food with a stuttering heart. He always eats faster than Aziraphale, which is a benefit in his books because it gives him an excuse to watch the angel eat and luxuriate in his favorite flavors.

"Why, you always scarf down your meals as if you won't see another one the next day," Aziraphale had said once a long time ago when he caught Crowley watching him eat.

Crowley had chuckled to himself and scrambled for an excuse that could lay Aziraphale off for the moment. "You know we don't have to eat like humans do, angel."

"Well, yes, but the delicacies humans make are much too scrumptious to ignore," he pouted and stared at his plate as if having second thoughts.

Crowley then nudged the platter closer and leaned on his elbows as he nodded toward the bread and vegetables layering the angel's plate. He tried to sound disinterested when he spoke. "Finish up, angel. A bet up in the north went my way and I have some coin to spare. I hear the baker's daughter makes a deliciously creamy goat milk based potato soup."

Aziraphale had lit up like one of the stars Crowley had hung up in the sky millennia ago and from that day forth, Crowley made sure he ate first so he could watch the joyous rapture on Aziraphale's face whenever he tried human foodstuffs. (The 14th century didn't help with making sure Crowley ate what he could at the moment as soon as he could, but he much preferred doing so for Aziraphale.)

Crowley quite likes the sushi plate prepared for him. He takes bites of nigiri between nods as Aziraphale starts a ramble about the various fishes and the vest consistency for sushi rice and how it's hard to find good sushi outside of Japan but this shop produces food that is absolutely delicious. He's finished both of his rolls by the time Aziraphale finishes his first of three, so Crowley grabs his boba tea and sips gentle at the straw as he leans on his free hand and watches Aziraphale through his tinted sunglasses. Having demon eyes even in a corporeal human state has many benefits but one of the best so far Crowley has discovered is that he has to wear sunglasses to hid himself among humans. Hiding his eyes means Aziraphale can't read the emotions hidden there as Crowley is sure his feelings would have long since been known if the angel could see the way Crowley's pupils dilate when he watches the angel enjoy himself.

Crowley finishes his drink in record time, sucking at the last few boba pearls as Aziraphale leans back and pats his stomach with a satisfied smack of the lips after his second roll. He still has one more and Crowley adjusts his position on the stool to slouch a little more as a fuzzy warmth consumes his mind at the prospect of watching Aziraphale finish his food with that cute content sigh spilling from his lips. Aziraphale throws a curve ball this time around that nearly knocks Crowley out his chair.

"Would you like a bite, darling?"

Crowley blinks in quick succession six times, remembers Aziraphale can't see it, and then sits up a little more as he shyly rubs at the back of his neck. "That's your food, angel, I don't wanna steal from it. I've had my fill."

"Oh, you're not stealing a thing, Crowley," he laughs lightly and motions toward his roll again. "I don't know if I can finish this all myself anyway and I would hate to waste it."

Crowley knows Aziraphale could finish that roll and probably another three if his corporation could take it, so that really only leaves one reason for the angel to insist on Crowley trying his food: he truly wants to share it with him. "Ah," starts Crowley as any previous excuses dart from his mind seeing the sushi slice between thin chopsticks in Aziraphale's hand pointed his way. His eyes flicker up to Aziraphale's face where an encouraging expression rests before he turns back to the rice, seaweed, and tempura combination. He opens his mouth and closes his eyes once the slice is placed oh so delicately on his tongue. The wooden chopstick touches lightly on his tongue and the demon can feel the pink on his cheeks and he turns from Aziraphale as he chews and stares at his empty plate. He wishes he hadn't drunk all his tea so he could use something to wash down the sudden lump in his throat.

"Isn't it delectable?" Aziraphale coos before eating a piece himself. He hums gently and places down his chopsticks to wipe at his mouth with his napkin. Crowley feels like sinking into the floor. "Do you want another?"

Crowley doesn't think he has the mind to vocalize his agreement so he simply opens his mouth. When Aziraphale turns to face him for his answer, the angel grins and goes for a piece with his bare fingers. Crowley doesn't have the chance to snap his mouth shut before Aziraphale is dropping the piece against his tongue. In a panic, he quickly closes his mouth but Aziraphale is just slow enough with pulling back that Crowley's lips wrap around the tips of the angel's fingers.

Blue eyes blink twice, staring at the fingers that press against Crowley's lips and Crowley is far too stunned to do anything but stare as well. It's when those eyes turn to stare straight into his own that Crowley finally moves and returns to staring at his plate to chew. Aziraphale doesn't offer him another piece which settles Crowley more than having accidentally made things awkward thanks to his panic about Aziraphale touching him. The conversation is stilted until the check comes and Aziraphale pleads with Crowley to let him pay for the meal since Crowley took the bill for their lunch at the Ritz yesterday. The demon shakes his head and takes this bill too, passing along the cash as he hops from his stool.

"Let me pay for you, Aziraphale, it's the least I can do."

Aziraphale merely sighs as he grabs his boba tea and sips impatiently. He looks out the window and then perks. "The farmer's market will be going on now, yes? We should buy some grapes and visit the park to feed the ducks. I'm sure they are quite startled after all that's happened."

Crowley isn't a huge fan of ducks or most water fowl—though he's proud about geese—but Aziraphale and his love for all things of God's creation means he adores the quacking beasts. They often meet up at the river to discuss whatever plans came from Above and Below and how they could use the Agreement to benefit either party. Now that there weren't any higher (or lower) powers dictating their actions, going to the park held a different connotation. It wasn't just a meet up place anymore. It was a full fledged outing, which Aziraphale had offered with his initial call in the first place, and Crowley found himself oddly satisfied at being able to feed the ducks without any pretense.

He nods his consent and gives the sushi chef a little wave before he makes his way out the building with Aziraphale at his side. They're walking for around a minute, standing much closer than Crowley is used to, when the demon realizes Aziraphale's left hand keeps brushing into his right one. Crowley crinkles his brow and looks down at his companion who is heartily finishing his taro milk tea and chewing boba pearls as he continues a previous tangent about romance novels. Their hands brush again a few more times down the block and at the light Crowley stiffens dramatically as Aziraphale's hand grips his instead of the mere brush of skin Crowley was struggling not to focus on.

Aziraphale's hand is snug and soft in his own, fingers moving to twine with Crowley's own longer ones. Their palms touch and Crowley takes a sharp inhale, blush staining his cheeks red as he refuses to let his eyes see what he feels. Half of him is worried the day so far is his imagination and that maybe he fell asleep while staring at the ceiling earlier in the day. Perhaps in the next few minutes he's about to wake up and realize he's not holding Aziraphale's hand but a pillow or something along those lines. He wants to pull away, he wants to fight back against the Temptation to keep his hand in the angel's own, but he's wanted this for far too long to try. Even if Aziraphale's actions are a simple emotional fluke brought by almost losing the Earth and each other in turn, Crowley doesn't want it to end because his internal panicking.

So Crowley rubs his thumb against the back of Aziraphale's hand and hears the angel's resultative gasp as the light turns green for them to walk forth. When they make their way across the street, Crowley chances a look down at the angel and blushes furiously at the sight. It's nothing indecent of course, holding hands is a very friendly gesture, the equivalent to the age old tradition in some European countries to kiss in greeting. (Crowley really wishes he and Aziraphale had been in those countries at the height of the gesture's popularity.) His thoughts have trouble accepting the fact that the plush hand in his own belongs to _Aziraphale_. The same Aziraphale who spent years trying to weakly enforce them being adversaries and denying their friendship, let alone whatever this was turning out to be.

A smile drips onto Crowley's lips and he lets it linger as he listens to Aziraphale babble on about Japanese food and how much he wants to visit Japan again. "We could go, you know," starts Crowley with a low hum, squeezing Aziraphale's hand with his words. "Drop on by for some calamari, kimchi, and natto topped ramen."

"Crowley," Aziraphale starts hesitantly as if he doesn't randomly close it at odd hours of the day anyway.

"We'll be gone for at most a day; I think your bookshop will be fine without you for a few hours."

Aziraphale makes a face. "No, it's not that." He looks about to say more, but doesn't continue the thought. "What about your plants, Crowley dear, how would they feel with you gone?"

Crowley shrugs. "They'll get on without me. They know better than not to."

Aziraphale spends a moment on that statement. "I think a good day without being screamed at will help them grow." When Crowley sends him a glare he laughs and swings their twined hands for a few glorious seconds as they continue down the sidewalk. "Do you really want to visit with me?"

"Of course; who else would I go with? I don't think Hastur is up for visiting Japan. He rightfully still hates me for pouring holy water on Ligur."

"Yes, he had mentioned something about knowing what holy water does to demons." Aziraphale's grip grows tighter. "Watching that usher melt into nothing was terrifying. I hope you better understand why I was so reluctant to give you that holy water. Why I didn't want to give you the means to melt yourself out of existence."

Crowley frowns and pulls them to a stop. "I never planned to use it on _myself_ , angel; what—,"

"Why else would you want holy water?"

"Aziraphale," he murmurs gently, raising their interlocked hands up as he caresses the angel's hand with his thumb once more. "I wouldn't want to leave you."

Aziraphale flushes and avoids eye contact. "Let's make our way to the market before they run out of grapes."

"You know they won't."

"The world has changed now, my dear, perhaps there's a grape shortage today!"

Crowley laughs and lets Aziraphale tug him along through the bustling city crowds. They make it to the market with plenty of time to spare and Crowley lays back as Aziraphale chats it up with the grapes seller. The angel purchases a mixed bag filled with purple and green grapes and then surprises Crowley with a basket of strawberries. Crowley raises an eyebrow but takes the offered gift with a soft smile. They're no longer holding hands at the market, but Aziraphale stays so close to Crowley's side, pressing against his shoulder in a manner that tempts Crowley into taking the angel's hand again. It's toward the end of their trek through the farmer's market when he takes Aziraphale's hand once more, only because he loses track of the excited angel and reels him back in and keeps him close to his side so as not to lose him again. Crowley wonders if there's a part of him still scared that if Aziraphale leaves his sight he may never see him again.

"Do you think we'll see more ducklings, Crowley?" asks Aziraphale as he munches on the grapes meant for the ducks. Crowley inwardly hopes Aziraphale eats them all so they won't go attracting ducks but he always knows the angel will risk a miracle to ensure the ducks are fed.

"Perhaps but it _is_ summer." he points out with a shrug. "We'll see when we get there."

"Mm, yes, of course," the angel smiles and they say no more as they walk to their usual bench at the park.

Once seated, Aziraphale starts slicing grapes in half, Crowley watching his familiar fingers sort the grapes by color. He's talking about Sense and Sensibility for reasons Crowley doesn't remember and the angel is too invested in his rant for Crowley to interrupt and ask why this conversation is being had. The demon slouches in his seat, legs sprawled with one stretched out in full, resting on the heel of his foot. Sunbeams dance across the green grass and Crowley basks in them much like a snake would. He's half enticed to slither into his snake form and soak up the shine, maybe curl around Aziraphale's legs since he can be more bold as a snake when it comes to being clingy.

Aziraphale turns to Crowley once he's finished slicing enough of the rounded vine fruits and motions to a neat green pile. "Would you care to do the honor?"

The demon raises his eyebrows. "Me? The ducks dislike me almost half as much as I hate them."

"You don't _hate_ them, dear."

"I do, I really do."

Blue eyes close with a deep sigh before opening to grab a handful of grapes. He motions for Crowley to open his hand and accept the juicy fruits. Crowley wants to ignore him but instead passes along his hand with an exaggerated groan which makes Aziraphale smile as he drops the fruit into Crowley's palm. "Just follow my lead; you're not anything for them to be scared of."

Crowley sticks out his forked snake tongue with a hiss and watches Aziraphale struggle but ultimate fail to not roll his eyes at the gesture. Aziraphale gently tosses a few grapes toward a nearby plump of ducks, who startle but then immediately start munching on the grapes. Crowley isn't so focused on the ducks themselves as he is on Aziraphale's joyous smile. There's something about seeing Aziraphale with nature, loving all the creatures surrounding him from the bugs in the ground to the birds high above. It's to be expected given the angel had given Adam and Eve his flaming sword, provided the expecting couple with protection as they ventured the new lands that made up Earth. Aziraphale loves with all his heart, fierce and protective, while Heaven maintains love for existence, for surviving the next battle and the next battle and the next battle against Hell and her demons. It's never about the creatures on Earth, probably a consequence of spending little to no time among the very creatures they were created to love.

Crowley finds himself lucky to befriend an angel as loving as Aziraphale and to have his love in turn.

When the ducks make their way over, Crowley leans in a little closer to Aziraphale. The angel gives him a look but says no more as he continues passing along grapes. The ducks are obviously eager for the sweetly tart treat grapes provide but Crowley has always wondered if they can sense Aziraphale's heavenly love and are attracted to the angel for his lovely ethereal glow. Crowley leans back with a smile at that thought, noting that he and ducks might not be so different after all once caught in orbit around Aziraphale's presence. Aziraphale might not be the model angel Heaven wants but he is most definitely a model angel for what Earth needs.

Forgetting about the grapes in hand, Crowley suddenly yelps when a curiously shy young duck nips at his open hand to take a green sliver. His abrupt motion scares the small thing away and it flaps its wings frantically in a hectic escape. A few ducks standing nearby scamper from Crowley's exclamation and Aziraphale turns to him with concern written in his eyes. "Were you bitten?" he asks carefully, looking down at the demon's hands to inspect for injury.

Crowley shakes his head and adjusts his sunglasses with his empty hand. "Nothing of the sort, angel."

Aziraphale doesn't seem convinced but he's quick to turn back to the ducks that stayed despite the commotion. Crowley watches him feed a few more before noting that another duck is coming in closer to steal a grape. The demon holds out his hand carefully, watching those beady black eyes dart between the grapes and him before the duck launches forward with it's beak and takes almost half the grapes presented. Crowley cocks his head as the duck smacks and chews, waddling backward as it continues to eye his hand. He turns back toward Aziraphale to share the news and finds himself tongue tied at the sight before him. Aziraphale holds a mallard in his arms, dragging two fingers down the bird's head and back with careful strokes. His blue eyes are closed but a soft smile splits his lips. Crowley's struck again with the want to kiss the angel, especially seeing him look so at peace with a duck in his arms and other ducks surrounding him and eating grapes with joyous rapture.

It's moments like these that make Crowley wonder if Aziraphale misses the Garden of Eden. Does he miss the lush green grass and trees overflowing with sweet fruits? Does he miss the fresh cold water from the river and the warm soothing sunrays from above? Does he miss protecting the Garden, keeping humanity safe before Crowley Tempted them out into the world? Is he ever upset at Crowley for whispering in Eve's ear, slithering between the apple tree branches to unlock the way to knowledge for the couple? Crowley thinks about the past six thousand years and how they watched over humanity in that time. Always Tempting and Thwarting throughout their Arrangement, Crowley himself stupidly eager to see Aziraphale again and do him a favor. Aziraphale lets Crowley be Fallen without falling to the deepest depths of Sin and torture Hell provided. He lets Crowley perform miracles for not just himself but for humanity, even if the two occasionally canceled themselves out.

It's inevitable really that Crowley would come to be so deeply infatuated with Aziraphale.

"Are you going to eat your strawberries, darling?" calls Aziraphale, pulling Crowley from his admittedly sappily romantic thoughts. Crowley nods silently and opens up the basket to pull out a few of the red fruits. He passes one to Azirapahle, who is no longer holding ducks, and the angel takes it with a small smile and equally small _thank you_.

Crowley pops a strawberry in his mouth and slouches back as he chews. He tries to sound unaffected with his spoken question. "Do you know what your plans are now that you're not working Above anymore?"

"My plans?" Aziraphale replies with unhidden shock in his voice. The angel blinks a few times and stares at the strawberries in hand. "I haven't the chance to ponder my future. I suppose maintaining the bookshop is an obvious answer, but after it, well, burned down, it's not the same anymore though Adam really did try his best. I'll always know it was gone and how that hurt you."

Blue eyes dart up to Crowley before quickly turning back to the strawberries. Crowley hums in acknowledgement. He thinks about ducks and the Garden and the words are out his mouth before he can stop himself. "I've been thinking about expanding my plant greenhouse. Make it less of a room and more of a garden."

Aziraphale perks at that. "You want a garden? Your flat doesn't accommodate that."

"No, it doesn't."

It takes a moment but then Aziraphale catches on. His faces loses some shine. "I assume that means you plan to move out of London."

"That would make maintaining a garden much easier, yes." Crowley turns out toward the park and sits up a smidgen more in his seat. "I've run into a certain obstacle of sorts when it comes to maintaining said garden."

"Oh?"

"Yes; garden upkeep is hardly easy. My plant whisper ways can only go so far, though I've done a fetching job at keeping them alive over the years." the demon turns to watch Aziraphale as the angel keeps staring at uneaten strawberries. "I've been thinking of introducing shrubs to my collection. Burnet willow, whitebeam, maybe downy rose. Those have amazingly pink flowers when in bloom." Aziraphale nods but still doesn't look up. "I'd also plant trees. Conifers, blackthorn, rowan, maybe also avocado and apple trees."

At the mention of apple trees, Aziraphale whips around to scrutinize Crowley with narrowed blue eyes. "Apple trees," he repeats as if tasting the word combination on his tongue.

Crowley nods. "I quite like them. Still would be nice to guard such precious vegetation from being run over by wily old snakes."

"Snakes."

"They do tend to find their homes in a garden."

Aziraphale twists in his seat to face Crowley fully. "Please do be more direct with your words, Crowley. What are you trying to tell me?"

Crowley grabs the strawberry from Aziraphale's hand and takes a bite. "A snake doesn't want to be in a garden all by his lonesome, angel."

"You want," starts Aziraphale with a dusting of pink settling on his pudgy cheeks. "You want me to come with you to your garden?"

"Hypothetically."

"Is it still hypothetical if I accept the offer?"

Crowley shrugs. "Finding a home with enough lot for the garden I propose would be a miracle."

Aziraphale is blushing furiously now, fidgeting in his seat as he leans in a little closer to Crowley. The demon can smell the familiar scent Aziraphale always carries: plush, warm, and diaphanous around the edges. "Oh, _Crowley_ ," he whispers, eyes alight with something Crowley hasn't seen before. It's hope in the center with anticipation and relief filled sparkles coloring the emotions ringing in his voice.

The sight makes Crowley's heart palpitate and on the metaphysical field of existence, he can feel his wings burst from his back into full span. He taps into his transcendental senses and feels his throat close up at the pure unadulterated golden Grace spilling from Aziraphale's very being. He notes how the angel's wings are going grey at the tips and wonders if his own are doing the same. It's a comforting thought, knowing that he and Azirphale are between realms not just on the physical plane. Aziraphale is not Fallen yet not pure Holy either, and in turn, Crowley is Fallen but not pure Sin. They are each a new form of angel and demon, their own supernatural entity evolving over thousands of years into half of the other.

"Angel," Crowley starts, even with his realization as Aziraphale will always be an angel to him, "it would honor me for you to protect my garden."

Aziraphale nods. "Of course! Of course I would, Crowley, my dear, sweetheart." There's shimmering tears in his eyes and Crowley wants to kiss them away. "I don't think I could ever leave you again. Not after all that we have been through."

"You don't have to ever, angel."

"Oh good," he smiles warmly and Crowley knows Aziraphale is using his transcendental senses when he feels the angel's wings slowly wrap around his figure with his smile. On the physical plane, Aziraphale merely shuffles close enough to rest his head on Crowley's shoulder. It takes everything in the demon to not turn his head and press a kiss to soft golden-white curls. "We can have a room in the back filled with bookshelves. You can have one dedicated entirely to gardening books."

Crowley feels his heart swell at the mere thought of sharing a home with Aziraphale. His head starts swimming--he never got this far with these thoughts and here Aziraphale is already imagining and planning out their new home. Insecurity starts to pester in his mind. "Are you positive you want to? Leave the bookshop, that is. You spent centuries cultivating your collection. I would hate for you to discard that hard work."

"Oh, there is no discarding to it, my dear." Aziraphale tucks in closer to Crowley. "As I said, it's certainly not the same anymore. The bookshop is closer to a grave than a home and I do wish for a home again. Building that home with you at my side would satisfy any other desire I may have in this world."

"I love you," erupts from Crowley's lips before he can stop himself. Aziraphale's wings tighten their hold and the demon squeezes his yellow-orange eyes shut as he pulls the angel closer. Now that he's said it, Crowley finds it hard to stop. "I've loved you for millennia, angel, desired you for so long I can barely remember when I didn't want you and I'm not inclined to remember anyway."

Aziraphale is silent for a moment before a small 'oh' parts his lips. "Crowley, you have always had an interest aura I could never decipher. It is different from other demons, not as filled with hatred and anger but oh so enticing and inviting." The angel sits up and grabs Crowley's face with warm hands. "All this time, I was so attracted to that aura, falling further and further into it's clutches while simultaneously denying doing so. Even when I realized that I love you, that I've loved you for far longer than I cared to admit, I thought you never could return those feelings. But that aura, Crowley," Aziraphale smiles a smile that Crowley can only describe as love in its purest form, "is simply you and your love. A type of love I'd never felt before: a demon's love. I've always sensed your love, darling, but I was so foolish and harebrained, oh Crowley, please forgive me."

Crowley presses his hands over Aziraphale's and returns the loving smile. "There's nothing to forgive, angel."

"Crowley," he croaks with a quivering voice, eyes pooling with happy tears. "I _love_ you."

"I know, my dear angel." Crowley strokes at the back of Aziraphale's hands with his thumbs. "I know you do."

"So much," the angel continues, letting tears spill over his pink cheeks. "I was created to love and care for all of God's creations but I don't think I was built for this amount of love, for this _intensity_ , toward one being."

"Perhaps not but," Crowley presses his lips to Aziraphale's forehead and pulls back to stare into the angel's wet eyes, "you conditioned yourself to give and receive it."

"I'm so happy it's you."

Crowley leans in and dances his lips across his angel's own. "And so am I."

**Author's Note:**

> ~~can i note how writing about these two lovebirds holding hands felt like writing for spirk lol~~
> 
> feel free to hit me up on tumblr and twitter @anthxnystarks


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